


Storm Surge

by sjhw_tolerance (mscorkill)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mscorkill/pseuds/sjhw_tolerance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam thought Jack would be okay once he was finally home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm Surge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for sj_everyday, Challenge 115  
> Prompt: Safe Harbor. One is lost. One offers shelter from the storm. (From the sjfanfic10 released prompts).  
> Set post-Abyss; Originally posted September 2009.

STORM SURGE

The loud crack of thunder, barely preceded by a bright flash of lightning, seemed to rattle the whole house. The rain started almost immediately, huge drops pelting relentlessly against the parched ground and her snug house. Sam looked through the front window, the rain fell in sheets, the dark clouds and pouring rain bringing a false twilight to the late summer evening. She left the window open, uncaring of the rain that spattered in, the cool fresh air welcome after the endless days spent in the depths of the mountain waiting. 

The waiting hadn’t been so bad at first, when they knew the symbiote was curing him of the virus. But then the days had dragged into weeks and they’d filled in their time with research and a mission or two while they waited for more news from the Tok’ra. Never forthcoming, Thoran was elusive even for a Tok’ra and the desperation that had been just manageable escalated with the news that Kanan had hijacked his host’s body and vanished. 

But he was back…and after twenty-four hours and assurances from Fraiser that he was going to be okay, she had reluctantly left the confines of the mountain. The heat and humidity outside had been oppressive, the air so heavy it hurt to breathe, the only sign of potential relief the dark clouds amassing over the mountains. She thought she’d feel better when the storm finally broke, the power of the storm washing away her guilt along with the sultry summer heat. But it didn’t and she wondered if the knot of worry and despair growing in her gut would ever disappear. 

Thunder boomed again, the rain settling into a steady downpour, the breeze blowing through her open window now chilly enough to make her shiver, but she didn’t move. The cold seemed to be the only thing that could penetrate the chill in her soul. Sam didn’t know how long she stood at the window, the thunder had faded to a distant rumble but the rain showed no sign of letting up, the streetlights winking to premature life in the early evening gloom. 

Maybe it was the rain or her own dark thoughts, but she didn’t see him until he was halfway across her front lawn. She wondered for one wild moment if she hadn’t conjured him out of her convoluted thoughts, but quickly shook off the fanciful nonsense. She couldn’t imagine why he was here, but he was and she hurried to the door and quickly opened it. He stood there, his short hair was plastered to his head, slicked down by the rain; water slowly trickling down his face. His dark eyes were bleak, the pain and weariness on his unsmiling face making her ache. 

“Sir? What are you doing here?” 

It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but it was all she could safely say and when he didn’t answer, she stood back, giving him tacit invitation to enter. He didn’t move and her immediate concern at his unexpected appearance shifted to an uneasiness she couldn’t define. There was something different about him…a ragged edge that hadn’t been there before. She knew firsthand the tangled mess left behind by a symbiote and combined with torture she was suddenly afraid that the dying Jack O’Neill she had begged to accept the blending was not the same man who stood in front of her now.

“Sir?” 

The brief flash of pain in his eyes was a look with which she was all too familiar; she’d seen it more times than she cared to remember and it didn’t help that she felt the same way every time she wanted to use his name but was forced by rules and protocol to ignore her heart. A gust of wind blew the rain in through the open door, the wet spray cold against her bare toes. 

He didn’t move, water dripping off of him and onto the drenched porch and she felt frustration start to compete with all the other emotions careening around inside her. “I’m going to call Janet.” She barely got the words out before his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist with a firm grip, keeping her poised in the open doorway, caught between the storm raging outside and the warmth and safety of her home.

“I have to know.” He didn’t let go even when she tugged lightly; his low voice sounded hoarse, either from disuse or some other reason she didn’t want to think about, but there was no hesitation when he continued. “Did you mean it? Or was it all a lie?”

She didn’t even pretend to not understand what he meant. They’d had close calls before and gone on as usual, so accustomed to the ever present feelings they had both agreed to ignore that it was automatic. And she knew what had changed this time. She had used those feelings to persuade him to agree to his worst nightmare. 

“I couldn’t let you die.” It was the truth but not all of it. 

His hand dropped immediately from her wrist; she hadn’t realized how tightly he was holding himself together until that moment, when his shoulders slumped and his head fell, the fatigue and pain she’d only sensed earlier now hitting her in waves. Lightning flashed again, followed by a clap of thunder, the storm renewing itself and as he turned away she found herself reaching out. 

“Jack.” Sam’s fingers caught the sleeve of his jacket and she twisted them tightly in the damp leather. She could feel him tense at her touch and she wanted to cry, but somehow managed to keep her voice steady. “Come inside.”

His docile acceptance of her request frightened her more than when they’d discovered he’d been captured by Ba’al. He just stood dully in her entryway, water dripping off him and onto her floor. It was only when she closed the front door that she realized his truck was no where to be seen.

“Jack, how did you get here?”

The question roused him briefly. “Walked.”

She didn’t ask from where, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “You’re soaking wet,” she murmured, finally taking in his drenched appearance. “Come on,” she instructed, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket. “Take off your jacket.” His movements were slow and clumsy so she helped him, her concern escalating with each passing minute.

Her fingers brushed his arm, and in spite of the fact that it was technically still summer, she was shocked at how cold his skin felt. She didn’t know if it was the rain or something worse, some residual effect from his time in captivity and the more prudent course of action would be to take him back to the infirmary and let Janet check him out—providing she had released him in the first place. But he had come to her, and however belatedly, she realized she couldn’t turn him away.

“Come on, Jack,” she said. Leaving his jacket in the hallway and heedless of the water on her floor, she urged him down the hall towards the bedroom. He was shivering now and her first concern was to warm him, an almost impossible task given his current drenched status. Guiding him into the bathroom, she left him standing in front of the vanity and squeezing past him, turned on the shower. It was the fastest and easiest way she could think of to get him warm. Once she had the water running hot, she turned back to him—he stood motionless, a dazed look on his face.

“Jack, we need to get you warm.” Sam started tugging at the black T-shirt he wore, tugging it free of his jeans. That seemed to rouse him and he brushed her hands away, pulling the shirt over his head and letting it drop to the floor. When his hands went to his belt, she left, waiting outside the partially closed door until she heard him in the shower. She slipped back in, ignoring the shadowy figure behind the shower curtain and grabbed his wet clothing off the floor. 

Once safely back in her bedroom, she stood indecisively for a moment, the damp clothes clutched in her arms. She really didn’t have anything for him to wear until his clothes were clean and dry; none of the spare clothing that she kept for her father would work…unless she could find his old bathrobe. Moving quickly, she went down into the basement, stopping at the laundry room first, thankful that he wasn’t a ‘tighty-whitie’ kind of guy when she tossed everything into the washer and started the load. Her next stop was the wardrobe where she stored her father’s clothes, where she finally found the dark brown terry cloth robe that had definitely seen better days but was better than nothing.

Hurrying back upstairs, she discovered she was too late when she opened the door to her bedroom to find Jack standing uncertainly in the middle of the room, one of her dark blue bath towels wrapped low around his waist. She’d seen him shirtless before, but not fresh out of the shower, in her bedroom with the sound of the rain still coming down steadily. His damp hair was spiky and sticking out wildly on his head and without the layer of clothing, she could tell that he had lost weight. She couldn’t see any bruising or fresh injuries, the sick realization hitting her that after his episodes in the sarcophagus, any of his remaining injuries would be psychological. 

Feeling like the worst kind of voyeur, given he was clearly worn out and practically swaying on his feet, Sam decided there was really only one thing she could do. Stepping briskly into the room, she set the bathrobe aside and pulled down the covers on her bed. “Jack,” she said, stepping back. 

His shadowed eyes met hers. “Sam….” Beneath the exhaustion in his voice, he sounded hesitant and uncertain.

“It’s okay,” she told him. “You’re exhausted.” He didn’t move, still looking unsure. “You’re safe here. You can sleep.” It had been a guess on her part, but it seemed to be the reassurance he needed, because he shuffled to the bed, letting the towel drop, giving her a brief glimpse of his firm butt before he slipped beneath the covers. She picked up the discarded towel, hoping he wouldn’t notice the hot flush of color on her cheeks. 

“Sam.”

She paused at the door and looked back at him, weariness and something deeper etched into every line on his face.

“Thank you.”

The dull ache in her heart exploded, sending shards of agony through her but she couldn’t let him see that there was nothing to thank her for and everything to blame. “Get some sleep,” she managed to murmur, forcing a ghostly smile to her face before she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She leaned weakly against the closed door, her eyes closing on a fresh wave of pain. He was thanking her when she was the whole reason for his pain.

The rainy evening suddenly matched her mood; he had come to her looking for answers and even after almost losing him twice—once to the virus and once to Ba’al—she was still too scared to do anything. God, she was pathetic…. Tossing the bath towel onto the kitchen counter, she picked up the phone and dialed the SGC. She’d better let Janet know where he was, given his sudden appearance at her house she wouldn’t be surprised if he was AWOL from the infirmary.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_He was running, his heart pounding in his chest, his lungs burning as he tried to draw in enough air to keep running. The muscles in his legs ached and he staggered, almost falling when his bad knee gave out, but the darkness was getting closer and he knew if could just find her, he’d be back in the light and he’d be safe. He ran on, the flickering torches casting ghostly shadows on the walls that raced alongside him. He gasped for breath, not sure what hurt worse, his lungs or his legs, but he couldn’t stop; even when his legs finally gave out and he dropped to his knees, he crawled, dragging himself across the rough stone floor. His only thought to reach her and the safe harbor of her arms._

_He reached out and when felt something other than cold stone he frantically started backing away. But it was too late and he started screaming when the evil laugh that haunted his sleeping and his waking rang through the corridor, echoing off the stone walls._

“Jack…Jack…you’re okay, it’s just a dream.”

He struggled to get to her…to reach her. She was so close…he could smell the faint scent of her perfume…hear her soft voice calling to him…feel the gentle touch of her hand on his face.

“Jack, it’s all right. Wake up, Jack, please. You’re safe, it’s just a dream.”

He believed her…just as he always believed her and just as he always would. He stopped fighting and relaxed, letting her soothing touch draw him to the light and warmth that waited for him in her arms. Something wasn’t right about that thought, but he didn’t fight the cotton wool feeling just as he didn’t fight the surreal lassitude that had enveloped him ever since his return. 

Jack slowly opened his eyes; even in the dim light it took him a moment to adjust, and the first thing he saw was Sam. The concern in her blue eyes transformed to relief, her lips curving into a smile that held the power of the universe. There was only one place he could be right now, but where he was didn’t matter, as long as she was there; he wasn’t going to question where or why. He had vague memories of hushed whispers traded between Hammond and Fraiser, fear and concern for his recovery—or lack of; he’d made it back to the SGC but he hadn’t felt safe until he’d walked through her door.

Reaching up with unsteady fingers, he lightly caressed her cheek. “Is it you?”

Concern flickered briefly in her eyes, but then her tender smile returned. “You’re home. You’re safe.”

Jack delicately traced her lips with his fingers. “You were in my dreams,” he murmured. “But then I always woke up.”

“Ba’al can’t hurt you anymore, Jack. No one can hurt you now.”

“But it was always the same…sleeping…waking...dying.” His voice dropped to a mere whisper. “Always dying.”

Tears filled her eyes, sorrow and pain replacing the warmth of her hesitant smile. She sighed softly in the silence and he could taste her tears when she kissed him. He made no move to push her away and the light, almost tentative touch of her lips grew more confident. Even though he was lying down, Jack felt lightheaded; after the harsh reality that had been his life and death with Ba’al, to be in her bed and surrounded by her warmth was almost too much. 

Jack’s heart pounded in his chest, he could feel his blood surging through his body, filling him with fierce arousal…filling him with life. Whatever happened now was their future. The past meant nothing; there would be no more regret, there would only be the two of them. The fool’s mask that had been his shield for so many years was stripped away in an instant, vanishing in the presence of his unleashed desire. 

The kiss went on and on but when it seemed like she was going to stop, Jack fisted his hands in her hair, pulling her back to him, the aggressor this time, kissing her ravenously. She stiffened for a brief moment and moaned something--his name? Before she relaxed against him. Even with her submission, the raging storm within him threatened to surge out of control, drowning them both.

He kissed her until both of them were gasping, unable to satisfy the desperate need that gripped him with mere kisses. He wanted more, he needed to possess her just as she had always possessed him. It didn’t matter if their feelings had all be hypothetical or denied or ignored. They had still been there, a living thing just waiting for the time when it would finally be free.

His lethargy gone, Jack rolled, pinning her beneath him on the soft mattress. Frustrated by her clothing, he tugged and pulled, his only thought to have her naked against him--flesh on flesh. Her low chuckle was breathless, “Here…let me.” 

Their hands met at her waist and he gave up on her sweatshirt, lifting up slightly so she could pull it over her head. His breath caught. She wasn’t wearing a bra, her pale skin creamy smooth. He reached out almost hesitantly, his fingertips just grazing the soft skin of her belly. She sucked in a deep breath and moaned softly when his fingers glided to her breasts. She was exquisite and he stroked her, each caress bringing him more life.

And he tasted her too, letting his mouth discover what his fingers already knew, enjoying her sweet taste and the dizzying contrasts of smooth and tightly puckered flesh. It wasn’t enough that his senses were rapidly becoming overwhelmed by the freedom of touching her…kissing her, he was also assaulted by the incredible pleasure of her hands touching and stroking him. 

Those strong, capable fingers grazed through his hair, stroking his shoulders, his back, his chest, everywhere she could reach. Not to mention the feel of her against the rest of his body, the rough contrast of the jeans still wore rubbing against him. Jack felt himself teetering on the edge; caught between his current position but desperately in need of what was yet to come.

His dilemma was decided for him when the path of wet kisses he trailed across her soft stomach were rudely interrupted by the waistband of her jeans. Even then, it was still almost more than he could do to stop kissing and touch her long enough to remove the offending garment. But he did, kneeling beside her, feeling almost clumsy in his haste as he worked the button and the zipper. Her panties were plain white cotton and there was something exceptionally erotic of the sight of her half naked with her jeans unzipped and her white panties peeking through.

But it was even better when she was naked. It was like his dreams…he froze, unable to move as images flashed before him; some he recognized, some he didn’t. Faces and places from his past and a past that hovered in the shadows, all without substance and form until Ba’al had tried to dissect away his memories. And she was always, in one form or another, no matter how hard he tried to keep her hidden.

“Jack.” 

There was no uncertainty or fear in her voice; she lay open before him, her arms held open. And it was enough. Banishing whatever ghosts and demons that still hoped to influence him, Jack surrendered to the safety of her embrace. There was no uncertainty now, only confidence. Like Kanan he’d been searching for that which would make him whole but unlike the doomed Tok’ra, he’d found his deliverance.

Their lips met as he settled onto her; her softer body adjusting to the hard planes and angles of his, her arms and legs wrapping around him, holding him close. The desire for her that had been his constant companion for so long demanded release and with one powerful movement Jack thrust deeply into her welcoming body.

Jack moaned, sagging against her, overcome by the pure pleasure enveloping him. But then she shifted beneath him, her body tugging and pulling at his and he rose up on his elbows and started to move. Deep, powerful movements that seemed to last forever as he gazed into her eyes, drowning in a storm surge of desire.

He wanted so much for this moment, but he could feel himself failing, his muscles shaking and trembling; the strength and endurance he took for granted weakened by his ordeal. After all the longing and waiting, he couldn’t fail her now, when he wanted to give her everything.

“Oh god, Sam,” he groaned, “I can‘t….” 

“It’s okay,” she murmured, her legs tightening around him. “It’s okay.”

He wasn’t sure he deserved the understanding in her eyes, but he couldn’t refuse her tender acceptance. With one final thrust, he buried his face in her throat and let his release flood through him. The pleasure was so intense he didn’t think he could survive, but he didn’t fight it. Safe in her arms he could surrender to oblivion, knowing that this time only life awaited him when he awoke.

Endless moments later Jack collapsed into her arms, his entire body shaking. Even though he felt as weak as a kitten, a curious sense of strength filled him. Except for one thing. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, nuzzling her throat.

The fingers that had been gently stroking through his hair didn’t even pause. “For what?”

Rising up on one elbow, he shifted and slowly slid out of her. “For this.” Ignoring the frown that darkened her eyes, he continued, “For everything.”

“I better get you back to the SGC,” Sam finally replied. “You must still be feeling the effects of the sarcophagus.”

He was dumbfounded. Of everything she could have said, he never imagined her saying that and a small tendril of unease started tangling itself in his contentment. “Sam—”

“Jack O’Neill,” she interrupted him, her voice firm but with that underlying hint of indulgence he recognized so well. “That has to be the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say.” 

The doubt and unease vanished; for reasons that might always be a mystery to him, the woman in his arms accepted him just as he was and now that the final barrier between them had been broken, he wasn’t going to let her go. Feeling a bit more sure of himself, he raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe one of the stupidest,” she amended, her lips curving in a tender smile. 

“Sam…I just….” He looked at her helplessly. The one time in his life when he wanted to say exactly the right thing, words failed him. 

“It’s okay,” she said, her eyes and voice serious. “You don’t need to say anything.”

“Isn’t that part of the problem?” he growled, frustration filling him. “We don’t say it?”

She reached up, lightly caressing his cheek. “What do you want to say?”

There was so much, he didn’t know where to start. And one day he would tell her everything that was in his heart and soul, but this was a start. “Never give up on me.”

Her blue eyes were grave as she looked up at him and he wondered for a wild moment if he had totally misread everything when he hand glided to his nape. She raised her head and he met her halfway, her lips brushing against his and she murmured the one word he needed to hear. “Never.”

THE END


End file.
